


at best i'll be asleep when you get back

by ghastlyghosties



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hipsters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghastlyghosties/pseuds/ghastlyghosties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wash was halfway into his junior year at Our Mother of Invention when he started regularly getting his coffee from the joint down the street from his apartment, The Gulch. It was the sort of place with jackalope heads hanging from the walls and cast iron everything. The coffee was, as the sign advertised one particular Monday morning, “Out of this World!” So Wash kept going, despite the fucking terrible barista, Lavernius Tucker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ACT I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by marisa (lakehymn here and tumblr). also, if you want, you can follow me on tumblr at queertucker.

ACT I, SCENE I -- _THE MEETING_  


Wash was halfway into his junior year at Our Mother of Invention when he started regularly getting his coffee from the joint down the street from his apartment, The Gulch. It was the sort of place with jackalope heads hanging from the walls and cast iron everything. The coffee was, as the sign advertised one particular Monday morning, “Out of this World!” So Wash kept going, despite the fucking terrible barista.

The first time he encountered The Barista, whose name tag read Lavernius, was one such Monday morning.

“What d’you want?”  
Wash was slightly taken aback. “Excuse me?”  
The barista rolled his eyes, and Wash felt himself getting more annoyed. So what if _Lavernius_ was tall and had arms that Wash thought might be registered weapons and dreadlocks with an undercut. So what if Wash was fairly certain he’d never actually seen cheekbones that could cut glass, and a glare to match in real life.

“What. Do. You. Want. Are you stupid?” Wash nearly walked out, but he didn’t quite have the time to get coffee if he did, and his caffeine addiction won out.

“20 ounce six-shot Americano with chocolate milk, asshole.”

“Name?”

“Wash.”  
Lavernius snorted and it was Wash’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Like you’ve got room to talk, _Lavernius_.” The barista’s eyes snapped up and he smirked.

“That’ll be $4.00 even.”

The cup said, in surprisingly neat handwriting, “Watch.” Wash would be less annoyed, but thinking about the smirk on Lavernius’ face he fucking knew that asshole had done it on purpose. But goddamn if the drink wasn’t good.

ACT I, SCENE II -- _WASH AND CT AND SOUTH_  


C.T. looked at South and rolled her eyes. Wash had been ranting about the hot-but-rude barista at The Gulch all fucking day. She got it: he was hot and rude and made excellent coffee. South looked equally bored and even more annoyed.  
“Oh my god, why don’t you just suck his dick and get it over with,” South said. Wash looked affronted in the golden retriever way he always did.

“Where did you-I don’t- _he’s an asshole_.” C.T. looked at him, unimpressed and unconvinced.

“Yeah, like you haven’t dated assholes before,” she shot back.

“Who even said anything about _dating_.” C.T. rolled her eyes again. Wash saw her this time and narrowed his eyes. South was smirking, still impressed with her comment about sucking Leonard or Lawson or who-the-fuck-ever’s dick. Wash may have pouted a little bit and C.T.’s look softened just slightly.

“Look, David,” she began, “he’s obviously a piece of shit, and if you aren’t willing to give up the phenomenal coffee, you’ll just have to ignore him.” Wash finally looked pleased that she’d said something that wasn’t mocking him. South pushed her shoulder lightly.

“Aw, c’mon Cee, now you’re just encouraging him,” She said, not quite smiling at Wash. 

“I know, but he’s just so damn cute when he pouts like that,” C.T. responded. Now it was South’s turn to look slightly affronted, although she resembled more of a rottweiler than a golden retriever.

“Careful or I might suspect something.”  
C.T. just laughed, turned and pecked her lips, “shut up, babe.”  
South growled just a little and pounced. Maybe she was more of a puma than a rottweiler.

C.T. felt a little bad she hadn’t noticed Wash leave, but he was a big boy and a rude barista wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. Besides, she was a little preoccupied.

ACT I, SCENE III -- _TUCKER AND CABOOSE AND CHURCH_  


“God!” 

Church turned aggressively toward Tucker and glared. That was the sixth time in thirty seconds Tucker had said that, and Church was fucking sick of it.

“What the fuck is up, dude?” Tucker glared right back, adjusting his septum ring.

“Fucking nothing.”

“Bullshit, dude, something’s got you. I don’t give a shit, but if you don’t stop walking around like a sulking teenager, I’m gonna fire you.” Tucker rolled his eyes.

“Just because Flowers is out sick doesn’t mean you can fire me, asshole.”

“It does if he fucking promoted me, _which he did_.”

“The fuck he did.”

“Yeah he did--”

“Tucker! Church! There is something wrong with the grinder machine!”

“Shut up, Caboose!” Tucker and Church yelled in unison, and then went to go see what was wrong.

The thing was, Tucker couldn’t stop thinking about the lavender-haired asshole with the labret from that morning. Fucking chocolate milk in an americano. What a douchebag. With a douchebag name. Fucking _Wash_. Whatever.  
“Numero dos, I’m taking my break.” 

“Don’t fucking call me that. You’re gonna leave me to deal with this fucking mess?” Tucker ignored Church with a practiced finger over his shoulder. He could just barely hear Church mumble something like, “yeah, fuck you, too.” 

Normally he’d spend his breaks working on his screenplay, but he was still too pissed, so he went out back for a cigarette. He definitely wasn’t thinking about Wash’s freckles, or how far they went, or the tattoo on his upper arm and shoulder of wolfsbane and foxgloves. He definitely wasn’t thinking about the way his face looked kind of like an angry puppy.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tucker breathed, the smoke swirling in front of his face.

ACT I, SCENE IV -- _THE MEETING, PT II_  


Wash was already in a bad mood when he walked into The Gulch the next morning, so he was really fucking hoping someone decent would be on shift, but he’d never really been lucky. He sighed and nearly walked back out, but the coffee was really fucking good. His loyalty to quality coffee was becoming a problem, he realized vaguely. Lavernius was leering at him, dreadlocks pulled up in a thick bun, hunched over the counter like he didn’t have anything better to do, like, for example, go hang out with his peers in the trash. 

“What can I get you, dear patron?”  
Wash was not in any mood for sarcasm, and he was fairly certain his face got that message across.

“Twenty ounce, six-shot Americano with chocolate milk.” After some consideration, he added, “and a pump of vanilla.”

“Oh, feeling adventurous. Name?”

“Wash.”

“$4.50, _Wash_.” Wash was ashamed about the way his stomach dropped when Lavernius said his name, but in his defense he’d never really heard it drawn out like that.

This time, the cup said, “Wosh.” Wash was fuming the whole way to American Lit.


	2. ACT II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta-ed by the ever wonderful marisa (lakehymn both here and tumblr).

ACT II, SCENE I -- _THOREAU-ING YOUR LIFE AWAY_  


Wash really fucking hated American transcendentalism. Sure, nature’s awesome, but it seemed like a bit of stretch to give everything up. Even though, he always felt compelled to note, Thoreau was the biggest fake in the business anyway, considering he didn’t live off the land and his mother did his laundry for him. Wash couldn’t really be bothered by the fact that Thoreau made that clear in his book; it still seemed shady to write a book on self-sufficiency while your mother does your laundry.

And, in any case, he wasn’t so sure anyone needed to be put on a pedestal for living in the woods. But, from an academic perspective, he figured it was pretty interesting that human beings became so affected by nature they just had to write about it. He was a bigger fan of the poetry from Brit Lit -- Wordsworth and Coleridge -- than Thoreau and Emerson. Although he was willing to admit it could be the professor. It was taught by the head of the English Department, Dr. Church. C.T. agreed that Dr. Church was a piece of work, and they had initially bonded over how creepy he was. Especially since he insisted on being referred to with his technical title -- The Director.

He made Wash uncomfortable in a way that made him sure to never piss the guy off.

Wash showed up to American Lit and fell into his seat next to C.T.  
“You would not fucking believe--”

“Does that say ‘Wosh’?” Wash glared at C.T., who was grinning like the goddamn traitor she was. Wash opened his mouth to tell her to shut up, but Dr. Church had started class, so he settled for glaring daggers at her over the top his coffee while Dr. Church discussed American Transcendentalism.

ACT II, SCENE II -- _WASH IT DOWN_  


Tucker was finally working on his screenplay during his break again. He was in the middle of a particularly intense scene when Church got his attention. His face was red like he’d been trying for a while and when Tucker pulled his headphones off he looked ready to kill him.  
“Stop fucking wearing your headphones on break!”

“Dude, relax, my break isn’t even over yet.”

“It is now.” That’s all Church said and Tucker was mildly confused until he looked out the door and saw Church The First walking down the road and practically launched himself behind the counter. Dr. Church didn’t approve of his son’s path in life, and he really didn’t approve of Tucker, but Church had somehow managed to convince his dad to keep Tucker around. After the last time Church had managed to convince The Director to let Tucker stay, on the condition that Tucker couldn’t work on his screenplay in the cafe anymore. 

(And, to be honest, Tucker wasn’t really sure what The Director’s place was in relation to the shop. He usually gave Flowers full run of the place and didn’t come in, but since Flowers had been sick, Tucker guessed he felt the need to check in more often. He never really got why a professor owned a coffee place like The Gulch, but what the fuck ever. In hindsight, Church probably could fire him.)

The Director came into the coffee shop, pursing his lips slightly at the decor that Caboose had made. The kid was dumb as a box of hair, but damn he was good at art.

“Hello, sir, what can I get for you today?” Tucker’s voice definitely didn’t crack as he realized he’d forgotten to flip his septum ring before The Director saw him. He raised one eyebrow at Tucker.

“I’ll have a twelve-ounce special today, Lavernius.”

“Absolutely.” The Director very rarely tested the employees like this, at least that’s what Church the second had told him. Since Tucker started working, he’d been tested at least once a month. As he was making The Director’s drink, Tucker heard the bell over the door ring quietly. Without looking up, he called out,  
“I’ll be with you in just a second.” He finished the drink and handed it to The Director, who looked a little sour that Tucker had done a good job as he walked out the door. Church, who was watching from the back let out an audible breath and Tucker felt his shoulders drop as he turned to see who had come in.

At the counter stood _Wash_ , looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream, with a short brunette with an undercut, and an athletic blonde girl almost as tall as Tucker.

“I didn’t know you could be so civil, _Lavernius_ ,” Wash said, his voice thick with laughter. Tucker sneered.

“Well, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Just tell me what you want, besides a twenty, six-shot americano. With chocolate milk.” Tucker smirked and wondered for a second if that counted as flirting. The brunette spoke up.

“I’ll have a tall-um, twelve-ounce white mocha. And she’ll have a sixteen-ounce drip. No room.” The blonde looked mildly surprised, but nodded.

“And your names?”

“C.T.”

“South.”

“You fucking know my name, asshole.” Tucker grinned, all teeth, and carefully wrote “Warsh” on the cup.

“$10.35.”

As an afterthought, before he even could really think about it, Tucker threw a pump of vanilla in Wash’s drink. Once he did think about it, he figured it was probably just because he was still fuming at The Director. Giving away a free pump of vanilla was his own minor rebellion. Probably.

He watched Wash’s face when he got his drink and couldn’t help the snort that came out when his face twisted in anger.

ACT II, SCENE III -- _TUCK AND ROLL_  


Of course C.T. and South’s names were spelled totally fine. Wash couldn’t help but wonder why this guy chose to single him out. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t let him be an asshole. Probably.

“I can’t believe that asshole spelled your names right,” Wash pouted. C.T. laughed and South rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, dicksmear, he clearly has a thing for you,” South responded. Wash scoffed.

“Sure, because that’s how people act when they like someone.”

“The phrase ‘pulling your pigtails’ doesn’t mean nothing.”

“Yeah, well, even if he did, there’s no way I’d go out with him.” Wash took a long drink of his coffee. He made a surprised sound as he swallowed.

“What, did he spit in it?” C.T. asked. Wash shook his head slowly.

“He,” Wash paused, not quite believing it. “He put vanilla in it.” South crowed victoriously, nearly spilling her coffee.

“He totally wants to fuck you!” Wash blushed to his collarbones.

ACT II, SCENE IV -- _SO IT BEGINS_  


Tucker was antsy. He’d probably had one too many coffees already. It wasn’t an unheard of occurrence, considering his employee discount. But it was only 9 and he’d only had 3 coffees since he’d started at 6. That wasn’t really enough, so he wasn’t really sure why he was so jumpy.

Wash walked in. Tucker stopped jiggling his foot; he didn’t want Wash to see him so aggravated. Except, Wash was unreasonably hot. He was wearing glasses, which wasn’t normal, and he looked a little more exhausted than usual. Somehow, the bags under his eyes suited him. He hadn’t had time to coiff his hair, so his bangs were hanging in his eyes.

Tucker licked his lips.

“Hey, cockbite,” he said with a grin. Wash looked less than amused.

“Lavernius.”

“Tucker.”

“What?”

“If you’re gonna use my name, at least call me the right one.”

“Why should I, you never spell my name right!”  
Tucker smiled dreamily. “Yeah, I never do, do I.”

“Just get me my drink, The Director will murder me if I’m late handing in my essay.” Tucker backed up and stared at Wash.

“What?”

“You know The Director?” Tucker asked slowly, suddenly a little worried about his job. If Wash knew The Director and he went blabbing in class about the terrible barisa at The Gulch. Tucker didn’t even want to think about it.

“Hardly. He teaches my American Lit class. He’s a dick.” Tucker let out the breath he’d been holding. It was Wash’s turn to look at him odd.

“Why?”

“He owns this place, technically, but his kid’s in charge.”

“I didn’t know Carolina worked here.”

“Not Carolina, Church the second.”

“Oh.” They both simultaneously realized they were having a civil conversation and shifted awkwardly. Halfway through writing Wash’s name on the cup, Tucker impulsively started,

“I’m-”

“Can you get me my fucking drink now?” Wash stopped like he realized Tucker was talking and flushed in his cheeks, but Tucker had already decided to keep his question to himself.

“Sorry, what were you saying?”

“Nothing. $4.00.”

He didn’t put any vanilla in it, and the cup read, “Washe.”

ACT II, SCENE V -- _BREAKING POINT_  


Wash sat down with a weird look on his face.  
“What’s up?” C.T. asked before she noticed. Wash just took a long drink of his coffee.

“It’s just--nothing.” C.T. raised an eyebrow at him, but couldn’t talk to him until after class.

“OK, so what the hell is up, Wash?” Connie asked as they talked to lunch. Wash looked at her through the corners of his eyes.

“I told you, nothing.”

“Bullshit nothing. I know you -- something’s going on.”

“I just had a weird morning.”

“Weird how?”

“I--Tucker and I talked. Like human beings. It was weird. I think he was going to ask me something, but I interrupted him on accident. It’s stupid, anyway.” Connie’s eyes lit up.

“Wash! South was right!”  
Wash scoffed. 

“Whatever.”


	3. ACT III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta'd by marisa (lakehymn)

ACT III, SCENE I -- _THE INCIDENT_  


Wash was late. And it wasn’t like Tucker watched the clock to make sure he was on time, but he was already on his first break and Wash hadn’t come in yet. It was really messing with his concentration. Wash was never late. What if--

The bell rang over the door. Tucker looked up just barely too fast and it was Wash. His shoulders dropped. He watched as Wash went to the counter, ordered his drink, and got it -- probably with a properly spelled name, since Simmons was running the counter. Wash glanced at him. Walked over. Tucker’s heart sped up. Barely.

“Hey, is that a screenplay?” Wash asked. Tucker stared at him.  
Wash shifted his weight. Tucker watched as he fiddled with the edge of his flannel, buttoning and unbuttoning the cuff. Something broke in the air and Wash swallowed. 

“Oh, uh, right. I’ll. Go.” And then Wash was gone and Tucker, who usually had a comeback for everything, was alone, gaping at the empty air next to him.

He tracked down Church.

“I need your help.”

ACT III, SCENE II -- _THE RESPONSE_  


C.T. kind of wanted to kill Tucker. And from the look on South’s face, she was right there with her. Wash was staring blankly at the ceiling, looking ridiculous.  
“I feel ridiculous,” he said. “I didn’t even like him. He’s an asshole. And, I mean, he just didn’t want to talk to me on his break. That’s fair, right?”

“Fuck that!” South broke out. “He’s been flirting with you for months, and he can’t take two minutes to answer a question on his break? He’s a grade-A, Certified Asshole.”  
C.T. nodded in support.

“We could go beat him up for you,” she offered. Wash laughed.

“I’ll be fine. There’s honestly no reason for this anyway, it’s not like we had anything. He’s just a hot barista who wanted tips. Nothing new.” South and Connie frowned at each other. Wash never really had money to tip anyway.

“I’m just going to avoid going there ever again.”

ACT III, SCENE III -- _WASHED OUT_  


“I’m not gay, but I’d fuck you if you asked.”

“That’s terrible, dude. Terrible.”

“Well, I’ve never tried to pick up a dude before, this is new territory!”

“Let it come--”

“Bow chicka wow wow.”

“--Fuck off, naturally.”

“He’s just, like, I don’t know, man. He goes to college. He’s an English major. He knows shit.”

“Shit, man, you’ve got it bad.”

“Fuck, yeah, you think?”

“No, like, when Tex and I started going out bad.”

“No way man, Tex has you totally whipped, I’m not that bad.” Church made a noise that probably meant, “yeah we’ll see.”

The thing was, though, Tucker knew he was in a weird place. Wash hadn’t been in the cafe in a week, and Tucker was starting to freak out. He was smoking on his breaks instead of writing again, and he was jittery until 11, when he knew Wash probably wouldn’t be in, no matter what.

He lit his cigarette.

It fucking blew. And then Tucker knew -- he knew he couldn’t do this the way he would with anyone else, he couldn’t use a cheesy pick-up line and a smirk. He had to do it right.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathed out the smoke, watching it swirl and dissipate.

ACT III, SCENE IV -- _TUCKERED OUT_  


“Come _on _, I actually want to drink good coffee. Besides he may not even be on shift, and it’s been a week! You’ll be fine.” Wash did not appreciate being dragged back to The Gulch by South and C.T., but honestly, when they got an idea in their heads, there really wasn’t anything to do about it. And they’d been hanging out with Carolina recently, so they were even more stubborn. He sighed.__

__“Fine. I could use a halfway decent Americano anyway.”_ _

__South gave C.T. a piggyback ride the whole way to The Gulch in celebration._ _

__Wash was laughing by the time they got there, and he saw Tucker’s head snap up when they walked in. He flushed a little and began to regret his decision, but C.T. and South were shoving him to the counter. They ordered first, and were waiting at a table by the time he got to the counter. Some friends._ _

__“Hey,” he mumbled._ _

__“Hey,” Tucker responded. It felt wrong. At least when they were arguing there was something there. Now it was just empty._ _

__“I-”_ _

__“Do you-” They both laughed, humorlessly._ _

__“You go first,” Tucker said. Wash was taken aback. He narrowed his eyes at Tucker, unsure what to think about it._ _

__“If you _were_ writing a screenplay, I’m a film minor. I could help you edit,” Wash said, running a hand through his hair. It was silver now, Tucker noticed. And he was wearing his glasses -- big round horn-rimmed glasses. His face was flushing, making his freckles stand out. Tucker had the urge to memorize every freckle on Wash’s body. He laughed. Wash’s face dropped, and Tucker immediately felt terrible, but he didn’t know what to say. He just charged Wash his $4.00 and got to work._ _

__When Wash got his drink, the cup said, “Wash -- (555) 486-3080.”_ _

____

ACT III, SCENE V -- _THIS IS FOR REAL_  


“OK, dude, we’re definitely going out, but on a real date, not whatever your nerd ass thinks is a date,” Tucker was laughing over the phone. Wash tried to fume, but all he could manage was affectionate annoyance.

“Alright, what do you want to do?”

“It’s a surprise.” Wash sighed. He hated surprises.

 

“Surprise!” Wash was honestly surprised. Tucker had brought him to a bookstore. The one down the street from the Gulch -- Valhalla. It wasn’t exactly a dinner date; it was better.

“I thought you said we were going on a real date?” Wash asked, raising an eyebrow at Tucker, who shrugged noncommittally.

“I figured we’d wing it,” he said with a grin.

Wash thought he saw some surprise on Tucker’s face when he grabbed it and kissed him. Tucker definitely made a surprised noise in the back of his throat before lowering his hands to Wash’s hips. Their lips moved together; Wash’s hand had migrated to the back of Tucker’s head, his fingers in his dreadlocks. Tucker sucked Wash’s lower lip and bit it lightly. Wash whined and Tucker smiled into the kiss. They broke apart, breathing heavily.

“So, how about that date?” Wash asked, grinning.

“How about it,” Tucker responded, pulling Wash back into him.


End file.
